Can't Live With You, Can't Live Without You
by Oni-Panda379
Summary: Bruce had always been forced to hide, restrain himself, do what he could to control his other half. He was burdened. Cursed. He was never truly free. He would always have to be trapped in a shadow far larger than him. But what if he found an out? Would he take it? Would he finally be free?
1. Chapter 1

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own Avengers or any other character or setting in the Marvel universe (cinematic or otherwise)!**

**Chapter 1**

**BHBHB**

Bruce sat on a hideously tacky floral patterned couch in an equally hideously tacky waiting room. A recliner and love seat with matching floral patterns sat around a dark wood coffee table covered in neatly piled magazines. A flat screen television was mounted over a small fire place, volume of some weather channel turned low. Leafy fake potted plants filled the corners and large prints of famous oil paintings filled what walls weren't covered in bookcases full of knick-knacks and decorations. There were softly glowing antique lamps on small side tables at the ends of the couches and next to the recliner.

It was meant to feel like you were at home. _Cozy_.

_Maybe if you still lived in the sixties._

This room didn't pull off the feeling of _cozy_ all that well. It tried too hard. It felt _cramped_ and _stuffy_. Neither of which Bruce liked. Bad things happened when he felt cramped and stuffed in a room with too many breakable objects.

The room didn't even have any _windows_.

That was probably because it was _underground_… Yet another thing that Bruce didn't like. Confinement under miles of dirt in a small cramped and stuffy room full of breakable objects with no way out.

"Breath… Just _breath_." He inhaled deeply in through his nose then exhaled slowly out through his mouth. A breathing exercise he learned to master many years ago. It was one of the easiest ways to stop himself from getting too worked up.

He had to keep calm. Losing control now would make coming here useless. He spent hours working to keep himself from getting too agitated. He didn't want to draw the attention of the _other_ _guy_ with a too fast pulse because he was getting claustrophobic.

That was the last thing he wanted.

Honestly, he didn't know how his connection to the Hulk worked. Could he hear what Bruce heard? See what he saw? Or did he only come out when Bruce was in danger or when an emotion, like anger, was particularly strong? Did he have any idea what Bruce was thinking?

It must be reactions to danger and emotional triggers, things that get his adrenaline moving. Otherwise Bruce wouldn't be here in the first place. If he was aware of _anything_ Bruce thought, the other guy would make himself in charge of Bruce's body long ago. Never let him near places like this, ever.

Oh boy, if the Hulk had the _slightest_ _idea_ what was about to happen…

The sound of the door quietly whooshing open caught Bruce's attention. He looked up to see Natasha, the notorious Black Widow, standing in the doorway, the harsh light of the hallway casting her into shadows. But her eyes still showed a brilliant green. They looked at Bruce coolly.

"It's ready."

Natasha wasn't one for niceties or easing anyone's nerves. Why beat around the bush? It just wasted time. Though Bruce wouldn't mind a little encouragement but he'd get nothing but the truth from Natasha. He didn't want to risk losing his nerve if it turned out that she thought it a bad idea for him to go through the procedure.

"Let's go, then." Bruce said, getting up to follow Natasha into the hallway. He left the ugly room behind with its stifling forced coziness. He should have just waited in the hallway. It was much better lighted and looked how it was meant to be, efficient and functional. Its walls white and floors gray; the only other features being black painted doors and the small plagues next to them indicating what was hidden away. It wasn't trying to hide its nature under tacky floral patterns and little crystal figurines.

Natasha and Bruce walked in silence. The two didn't exactly meet on the best of terms. Considering that he almost killed her when he Hulked-out when the Helicareer was under attack. But after many battles and time to get to know each other, they knew they could trust each other, rely on each other.

Which is way he came to her for this particular favor in the first place.

They turned a corner then walked down another long hallway. They stopped in front of a door, indistinguishable from the rest. Its little plaque read 'Lab 23-H'. Labs… it felt like he's spent so much of his life going from one lab to another. Both as the experimenter and experimented.

Natasha reached for the door handle but stopped short when Bruce gently placed a hand on her shoulder. She looked over her shoulder with a questioning raise of her brow.

"Thanks, for doing this for me."

She shrugged a shoulder. "It's something you believe you have to do." She turned back then opened the door.

He knew that there was nothing in it for her. She didn't have to help him out like this. If anything, she could get into a lot of trouble smuggling in a fugitive into her place of employment, one of the many places that want to capture him in the first place.

Maybe their friendship meant something to the stoic agent, enough to put herself and job in danger.

The lab was large, with a high ceiling. The walls were lined with state of the art machinery with their flashing lights and soft humming. At the center sat a long padded person-shaped table. Leather straps hung loosely from it. It reminded him of unpleasant memories of a lab at a college campus with lower quality machines that needed a good kick to get started.

That day had ended _really_ badly.

Another door opened on the left side of the room, revealing Clint Barton, the sharpshooting Hawkeye. He smirked slightly, nodding in greeting. "Nat, Dr. B."

He crossed the room to stand with Bruce and Natasha. He stuck his hands into his pockets. How such a tight fitting leather suit could have pockets, Bruce would never know.

Clint was a bit of an oddball. Which really wasn't saying much considering who made up the Avengers. But what he meant was that Clint didn't instantly fear or dislike the Hulk. If Bruce didn't think it utterly ridiculous, he'd say Clint had a bit of an _infatuation_ with the other guy.

"Welp, everything's ready. Are you sure you want to go through with this?" Clint didn't sound imploring, like he was trying to stop him. He just wanted to know. He would support him no matter his decision. Clint wasn't supposed to be helping fugitives sneak into secret agencies to make use of their labs without permission either.

Bruce really appreciated what these two were doing for him.

Bruce nodded. "I'm sure." He sounded a lot more confident than how he felt. But his resolve was still set. He _had_ to do this. He couldn't afford to get cold feet now.

Clint smiled slightly, his tone light. "No more going on crazy adventures, you know."

Bruce smiled in return. "Yeah, I know."

That was the hardest part about his decision. He wouldn't be a part of the Avengers anymore. He'll be nothing more than a civilian. He wouldn't be able to help in battle or much outside of battle. Their wild card would be gone and he doubted anyone would really _need _a radiology expert around.

"No more punching Thor in the throat." Clint's piecing blue eyes were teasing.

"I think he'll be okay with that." Bruce grinned at that. He's never been _present_ at all but one of these incidents but he's heard of the stories about Hulk beating up on Thor. The other guy just didn't seem to like the God of Thunder.

"No more me finding you passed out in nothing but a pair of shredded pants in random places." Clint sighed wistfully. "I'll miss that the most."

Bruce chuckled lightly. "I'll bet you would." Clint's light-hearted joking helped a lot to settle his nerves. It eased the tight feeling in his chest.

"If you're finished flirting, it's time." Natasha had moved over to the table.

Clint sighed then placed a comforting hand on Bruce's shoulder, giving it a tight squeeze. "Welp, you heard the boss."

"Thanks, Clint… For this," Bruce gestured vaguely around the room, "for helping me."

Clint simply shrugged. "It's what bros do for each other." He moved to stand on the opposite side of the table from Natasha.

Bruce nodded. His throat constricted painfully. He used every ounce of self-control he had not to turn around and bolt. It took a lot of an effort but he did it, with the help of some breathing exercises. Being strapped down and poked with all kinds of needles wasn't something he looked forward to. It always ended in pain and someone getting hurt, or even killed when he Hulks out.

But he had to do it.

Bruce pulled off his shirt then lay down on the cushioned table. The leather was so cold against his back; it almost felt like it was burning his skin. He stared intently at the ceiling as the straps were being locked into place at his arms and legs. Maybe if he didn't see them he could pretend they weren't there.

Natasha and Clint came into his line of vision. Both of their faces blank of any emotion. No more dilly dallying.

It was time to proceed.

**BHBHB**

Bruce woke up to a painful throbbing in his head. It pounded unmercifully behind his eyes. It felt like he had been hit by a Mac truck; several times over. He rubbed the heels of his palms at his eyes in hopes of easing the pain, but it didn't help any. Unwilling to get up, Bruce snuggled into his pillows. Maybe more sleep would make the headache go away…

It took several seconds before he figured out that he was in a rather comfortable bed in a dark room, the room that was given to him at Avengers Tower (nee Stark Tower). It took several more seconds before he figured out _why_ he was in his room and not in the last place he was conscious.

…_Clint and Natasha smuggling him into S.H.I.E.L.D…_

…_The ugliest waiting room he's ever been in…_

…_The lab and its machinery and terrible leather clad table…_

…_The procedure…_

Headache long forgotten, Bruce slowly pushed away his covers, carefully sitting up on the edge of his bed. He just stayed there, unmoving. Not quite ready to let what he had done completely process through his mind. He didn't want to jump the gun and get too excited. In case it didn't work out.

After a long moment of careful breathing he finally released the floodgates of his mind.

What if it _did_ work? What if it _actually_ worked? What if all that painstaking research he's been doing for months had actually _worked_? He could _finally_ be free. Free to live a normal life. He wouldn't have to hide or run. He could find a stable job and live in one place for the rest of his life. He could do whatever he _wanted_.

But like any good scientist, he had to test his theory to make sure it worked.

"Jarvis?" Bruce asked softly. His voice sounded hoarse, like he had been overusing it from screaming. Had he screamed? Probably. The procedure wasn't exactly made to be painless. And he was a little fuzzy on the details right now.

"_Yes, sir?" _The AI answered crisply.

"Is the green room free?"

"_Yes sir, it is."_

"Thanks."

"_Not a problem, sir."_

The 'green room', oh so cleverly named by Tony, was essentially a reinforced playroom for the _other_ _guy_. Whenever Bruce felt like he might transform, he could go to that room and smash around a bit and cool off. No one got hurt and the other guy got his anger out. No harm done.

But as hard as he tried, Bruce couldn't think of it as nothing more than a cage. He knew that's not what Tony meant by it but… he just couldn't help that feeling. Especially with how through the locking mechanism was for the room. He didn't want his life to be nothing more than moving from one cage to another.

But right now it was the perfect place to do his experiment.

Bruce quickly changed into something he wouldn't miss too much, a worn out t-shirt and loose fitting trousers. In case the experiment went wrong, and then hurried to the green room.

The room was large. Larger than any other room he's see in the building. The steel-plated walls stretched up to meet a high steel-plated ceiling. Lights were set into the ceiling with shatter-proof glass coverings. Even the floor was reinforced with steel-plating.

This room was built to take a beating. A beating from a giant green rage monster.

It had plenty of smashing material too. From hallowed out car bodies to old furniture.

Steve had made a feeble attempt to make it a little bit more appealing with murals of green meadows and blue skies but that just made the other guy angry and try to scratch and punch off all the paint.

A patch of bright blue sky was still left high up on one of the walls. Bruce used that as a focal point. He stepped under it, staring at it intently. Then he did what he did best; he got angry.

He released all the pent up, carefully controlled emotions he's built up. Years of constant fear, anger, anguish, loneliness. Fear of losing control, anguish over all the deaths he's caused, all the times he's spent alone because he was afraid of hurting the ones he cared most about. Every last emotion he turned into fuel for the rage the other guy fed off of.

But nothing happened.

The world didn't tinge green as the other guy took control. No loss of awareness. No sounds of ripping clothes. No angry roars. Nothing.

He picked up a broken piece of wood. It might have been a chair in a previous life. He tossed it as hard as he could at the wall. It split into a few pieces before bouncing across the floor. He tossed a few more pieces of broken things he could find. He yelled. But still, he didn't Hulk-out.

He dropped down onto the floor, panting. "I did it. I can't believe it… I did it." He chanted it over and over again. He crossed his arms over his knees and then dropped his head onto his arms. He was trembling all over. The joy he felt made it hard to breathe.

He actually succeeded in extracting the Hulk.

**BHBHB**


	2. Chapter 2

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own Avengers or any other character or setting in the Marvel universe (cinematic or otherwise)!**

**Chapter 2**

**BHBHB**

Bruce felt like he was walking on air. For the first time in many years he did something he hadn't done. He spent his day just roaming around the city, out in the open without any disguises. He went to a coffee shop, walked through Central Park, he simply enjoyed living freely. He didn't feel claustrophobic in the masses of people. He didn't have to worry about hurting anyone accidently.

He hasn't felt this good in years.

When he came back to the Tower the lounge room was silent and mostly in shadows. The only light came from the row of light fixtures over the bar tucked away in the corner. The long bay of ceiling-to-floor windows was shuttered for the night. Bruce was going to pass it by and go straight to his room, thinking that everyone was either asleep or probably on a late-night mission, but a soft tinkling sound caught his attention. He walked slowly past the long leather sofa nearly jumping out of his skin when a voice spoke out from the darkness.

"So you really went through with it, huh?"

"What are you doing sitting in the dark?"

"Having a drink."

Bruce turned on a lamp on a nearby end table. It revealed a disheveled Tony sprawled out over the sofa, a glass half full of some dark colored liquor in his hand. There were grease smudges on his face and arms and his hair was an oily mess. He must have been working in his workshop all day nonstop.

"Yeah, I did." Bruce sat down on the sofa. He knew Tony meant the procedure to extract the Hulk. "Does it upset you?"

"No." Tony sighed then took a sip from his drink. "But I wish I took it more seriously when you told me about it. Maybe I could have talked you out of it."

"Tony…" Bruce's voice was slightly strained. "You know why I had to do it."

"Yeah, yeah." Tony waved his free hand dismissively. "Freedom of your own body, no more hurting people. I get that. I really do. But still. We could have found a way control the other guy..."

"The only way to control him it to get rid of him." Bruce said sternly. "He wasn't a dog you could teach tricks to."

"But you wouldn't even _try_—"

"Tony—"

Bruce never could understand this about Tony, or Clint. Or the others when it came to the other guy. They seemed to think if he just 'talked it out' with the other guy everything would be hunky-dory and he could live on. He would smash only the bad guys and leave the innocent bystanders alone. They didn't understand. There wasn't any _talking_ he could do. Hulk was a rage monster. He didn't listen to reason. All he knew was to rage and hurt.

Suddenly all the lights in the lounge flared to life. The elevator at the back of the room opened up. Natasha walked out briskly, not bothering to stop and say anything. She walked down a hall then disappeared around a corner.

Clint came out next, choosing to come over to Tony and Bruce who had since stood up from their seats in all the commotion. He smiled at them, looking positively excited. "You will not believe what went down today, man."

Thor came out last. Slung over his shoulder was an unconscious body of a man. A very muscular and naked man. His dark unruly hair hid his face.

"What's with toting around bare assed men to my house?" Tony asked as he watched Thor go down the same hall Natasha had disappeared to.

Clint's smile split into a full grin. "Oh that?" He shrugged nonchalantly. "That's just a very _human_ Hulk. He got a little tuckered out on the way here."

**BHBHB**

Bruce sat at the bar, alone. His teammates gathered around in some guest room to admire their new guest.

Bruce didn't want to be a part of that.

He stared absently at his hands that were splayed out on the granite countertop. His hands were calloused and roughened from so many years of traveling on his own through rural, backwater areas. So many years of running and hiding; trying to find a cure; learning control; helping anyone he could—it was all etched into his hands. Proof that he at least _tried_.

And then finally—_finally_—he succeeded. All of that work paid off. He was free.

At least, he _thought_ he was free.

But the overwhelming evidence lying unconscious in some guest room said he most certainly was _not_ free.

He couldn't believe this happened. He couldn't even begin to wrap his mind around _how_ this could have happened. He didn't _want_ to know how it happened. It all felt like the universe was playing a cruel joke on him. Laughing at him. What did he do to possibly deserve this? Wasn't all those years of trying so hard to help other people while he suffered enough punishment for his arrogance from so long ago?

Bruce stood up abruptly, knocking over the barstool he been sitting on. He stumbled back then turned, walking quickly, almost running to his room. He was panting through clenched teeth, when he reached his room. Thankfully it was on the opposite side of the floor from _him_.

He couldn't face him. He didn't want to. Bruce smiled then. Actually, he didn't _have_ to. Not anymore.

Bruce rushed around his room, filling up a suit case with clothes and other items he deemed important. He didn't bother folding or organizing, he just shoved it all in there. He could fix it later.

"So you're just going to leave without saying anything?"

The quiet question startled Bruce out of his frantic packing. It was Clint, who was casually leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed over his chest, watching Bruce with cool blue eyes.

Bruce slowly turned around to face the archer. Adrenaline was still pumping through his system. It felt so strange to let it flow so freely. He didn't even have on his heart monitor to keep track of his pulse. Why bother when he didn't need it to anymore?

"I was planning to leave a note."

Clint chuckled. "Well, I guess that's better than break up over a text message." Then he sighed, pushing off the doorframe to pace slowly over to Bruce's dresser. He carefully picked up Bruce's discarded heart monitor. He fiddled with it before speaking again. "What was it like?"

Bruce was struck speechless for a moment. He knew that he wouldn't get a blowout confrontation from Clint. But then he didn't actually know for sure what Clint would do, or ask in this case.

"What was what like?" Bruce asked.

"You know, having the Hulk, inside you."

Bruce looked down at the white carpeted floor. No one ever really asked him what it was like. So he never really had to think about it and try to explain it. It was either fear it or ignore it when it came to other people's stance on the Hulk.

He stayed quiet for a long moment, simply thinking of the best way to say it.

"It's like… an internal battle. A battle you can _never_ win. Because it doesn't matter how strong you are, the other guy is _always_ stronger." He brought his hand up then curled it into a fist. "Have you ever had someone take your brain and play? Pull you out and send something else in?" He looked up at Clint, his eyes haunted, unfocused. "To be _unmade_?"

Neither spoke then. Clint stared off into space. His face pinched and his shoulders tense. His hands that were fiddling with Bruce's heart monitor were motionless. He must be relieving some unpleasant memory at that moment.

Clint was the first to speak. His voice was a strained whisper. "To an extent… I do. That's how it felt when Loki took over my mind."

"That's why… why I just _can't_. I can't go in there and stare awe at the other guy's miraculous spawn into existence like everyone else. Why I can't just _ask_ him to stop being what he is; a rage monster. I worked too hard to never feel like that again. To feel trapped in my own body."

Clint nodded, a jerky moment for the usually collected archer. He came over to Bruce, placing a hand on his shoulder then gave a squeeze. That was all it took. It said he understood; he wouldn't stop Bruce from leaving.

So that's what he did, Bruce left.

They didn't need him anymore. They still had Hulk, their wild card. Everyone would be happy now, right?

_Right_…

**BHBHB**

The first week of his life as an average non-powered person weren't all that bad.

Actually, they were wonderful.

Bruce found a small apartment to live in. It wasn't the best or the most roomy, or even in the nicest neighborhood, but it was his own. He found work at a close by clinic, it was a little shabby and could use better equipment but he still enjoyed working there. Plus, they didn't mind too much that he wasn't a _real_ medical doctor.

He was happy.

The next few weeks followed suit. He lived, he worked. He made friends with the locals. He walked around the market. He did things he never could do before. It was a marvelous feeling to have.

Although, sometimes he'd miss what he gave up.

He'd miss living in the Tower, working late on some project in the lab with Tony. He'd miss Thor's boisterous laughter, Clint's sharp sarcasm, Natasha's rare witty comments, Steve's excellent old fashioned mannerisms. He really misses it all. But what was done is done. He was sure they were just fine without him.

Then a month has passed in his happy little life. It was peaceful. He never had anyone bother him. And he never bothered anyone.

Until now.

He was walking home after a long day's work when something large and as solid as brick wall slammed into him. He flew several feet through the air before finally landing awkwardly and painfully on his shoulder on the sidewalk. He lay there for a dazed moment, he couldn't breathe; the wind had been knocked clean out of him.

He heard a laugh behind him. It was more of a growl than a laugh, sounding like it came from something huge and monstrous. Not at all human.

"Little doctor Banner. I've finally found you."

Bruce looked back, his breath hitching. It was Emil Blonsky, or rather, what he had turned into after being injected with Bruce's radiation saturated blood many years ago. He stood well over eight feet tall, his body a huge mass of sinewy muscle and exposed bones. The abomination of a man stalked slowly toward Bruce, a smile twisting the things face into something sinister and beastly.

Bruce tried to crawl away but he was too injured; too slow. The thing grabbed him by the ankle with its grotesque clawed hand and then pulled him back. The thing hovered over him, its small bald head close to Bruce's face, its breath harsh and foul.

"Something's off about you… Why haven't you—"

Its words were cut off by a second large body, nothing more than a blur of white tee shirt and blue jeans, which slammed into its side, knocking the abomination into a nearby storefront. Glass shattered raining over the side walk and on Bruce. The two fought inside of the shop, out of sight. After a moment the sounds of the scuffle subsided.

The man stepped out through the broken window to stand over Bruce. He had scrapes on one side of his face, his shirt was torn and his dark curls were a mess. He loomed over Bruce, panting form his fight. His brown eyes intense and angry.

It felt like it took a lifetime for Bruce's sluggish mind to realize why this stranger's face looked so familiar.

He wasn't a stranger at all.

It was the Hulk. A very human Hulk.

**BHBHB**


End file.
